


the simplest terms and most convenient definitions

by ships_to_sail



Series: S.C.H.S., Better than All the Rest [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Flirting, Banter, Baseball, Blowjobs, Boys In Love, David Rose makes Bad Decisions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Meet-Cute, Patrick Brewer is Gay, Patrick Brewer is a Great Friend, Reckless Googling, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22055830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: 'Just like always' was exactly the way Patrick didn't want his senior year to be. As he slipped into the desk next to Rachel, though, and looked around at the familiar classroom walls, and nodded towards the same 15 people he'd expected to see, he felt himself get itchy under his skin. He was so, so fucking glad he only had one more year until he'd be out of college and living a life that just looked...different.The second bell rang at 8:00 on the dot, and just like that Patrick's Year Twelve began.Or; the first two weeks at Schitt's Creek High School
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Series: S.C.H.S., Better than All the Rest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568809
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	1. simplest terms and most convenient definitions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's the one where they're all in high school!
> 
> I have no idea where this is going (mostly) or what it'll look like when we get there, so join me on the adventure won't you?
> 
> Everyone here is 18+ and making the kind of stupid decisions the recently 18+ usually make. Which is to say we're starting in Teen Harbor and sailing these ships to steamier waters.
> 
> This is bundling of several disparate fics that were in a collection for a while until I decided they told a single story better, so if they seem familiar, that's why!

The bell rings shrilly at the same 7:45 it always does, but Patrick Brewer has been in the building for over an hour already, getting welcome packets put together for the new choir and band kids. His palms are sore like they're bruised, and it's possible he's taken out some of his frustrations over last night's practice on the stapler in Mr. Fiedler's office. The season hasn’t actually started yet, but he’s not fucking losing to Elmdale again; he’s just fucking not. He rubs them down the front of his new Wranglers and makes sure the buttons on his new cobalt shirt are even before slipping the door to Ms. Anendale's English class open as quietly as he can. He's really hoping he can slip to a desk in the back without seeing-

"Patrick! I saved you one!" Rachel waves at him from the middle of the room, pointing at a desk that would leave him basically front and center for the rest of the year. He quickly weighed the options and decided it wasn't worth the drama with Rachel. She'd called last night and talked at him for nearly an hour about how this was senior year, and if they couldn't be together together at least they could be there for each other as best friends, the way they had been since grade school. He hadn't said much, just hummed in agreement as he wrote out guitar charts to "Cry Me a River" from memory. He was thinking of doing another Justin medley for the homecoming assembly this year, so he hadn't really been listening when Rachel had asked whatever she'd asked and next thing Patrick knew she was saving him a seat the next day, just like always.

'Just like always' was exactly the way Patrick didn't want his senior year to be. As he slipped into the desk next to Rachel, though, and looked around at the familiar classroom walls, and nodded towards the same 15 people he'd expected to see, he felt himself get itchy under his skin. He was so, so fucking glad he only had one more year until he'd be out of college and living a life that just looked...different.

The second bell rang at 8:00 on the dot, and just like that Patrick's senior year began.

*

'Fuck every last bit of this,' David Rose thinks as he marches down the now-empty hallways of Schitt's Creek High School. His Tom Ford sneakers snap and echo off the linoleum and metal lockers and he wonders what it is that makes all high schools feel the same. Granted his had been more of a performing arts social-educational collective that hadn't believed in things like grades or official start/stop times for it’s classes, but still. It felt like this place, like horny desperation and judgement. David was so glad he'd only have to put in twelve long months before his trust from Grammy Rose kicked in and he could get out of this family-imposed hell hole.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about running into Alexis, whose first class was all the way across what this small town had mistakenly referred to as a 'campus', and who had latched onto a sunny student government member named Ted who had offered to walk her there. Now all David has to do is make it to lunch. At the thought, his stomach grumbles and he rolls his eyes, pulling the door to his English classroom open with a heavy, world-weary sigh.

If they'd been in a Moira Rose sitcom, an audible record scratch would've sounded, the speed and unity with which each head swivels to look at him. He wants to pull his sunglasses over his face and sink into the floor, but he settles for swiping his newly cut asymmetrical bangs to one side and throwing a half-wave to the group, most of whom aren’t looking anymore. And one of whom is looking at David all weird, with eyes that are too loud for any one person to be looked at with. He’s wearing mid-range denim and a very crisp looking button down and smiling at David like he’s actually trying to be friendly. Ugh.

“You must be Mr. Rose,” a kind elderly lady says from behind him. He looks behind him just long enough to see a floor-length denim dress and just prayed there wouldn’t be any puppets in the class anywhere. Women in long denim loved puppets and he still hasn’t recovered from his impromptu party crashing at Jeff Dunham’s house.

“Mr. Rose is my father, actually. I’m David.”

She nods. “Class, this is David Rose. Everyone say hi to David.”

“Hi, David.” The class drones, eyes focused on their notebooks or iPods - except for chipper, loud-eyed boy, who actually says it like he’s glad to see David in his class. David refuses to make eye contact and can’t believe that this is exactly as bad as every fucking high school movie he’s ever seen.

“You can go ahead and have a seat next to...well...ah! Looks like there’s one right behind Mr. Brewer.” She gestures vaguely towards the middle of the room and David groans internally. Looks like he just found out Mr. Smiles name is actually Mr. Brewer. He begins to walk towards his new desk when the teacher calls him back quickly and shoves a thick English textbook and a copy of The Great Gatsby and Hamlet, which were books he’d already pretended to read with his last private tutor (after the performing arts academy but before the attempt at Jewish boarding school). He barely manages to juggle the stack to the desk she’d pointed to, and he shoves his ass into the seat and blows the hair off his forehead. He slips the books gently onto the floor and leans back in his chair, stretching his back and twirling one of the three pacifier necklaces he’s wearing around his index finger. The teacher is already talking, back to the room, about - something. David has no intention of actually listening. He’s two-thirds of the way through planning his lunch and doesn’t notice Captain Cheery turn around in his seat, stack of handouts clutched in his hand.

“Hey. I’m Patrick. I know Ms. Anendale said Mr. Brewer and I figured you might want a first name instead.”

“Uh-huh.” David reaches out and plucks the stack of papers from his hand, grabbing one for himself before dropping them, blindly, over his shoulder. He looks down at the paper long enough to see it’s a list of things to do and when he’ll have to do them by, and he sets it on the book stack beneath him without investigating further.

“And you’re David Rose?”

“Yeah,” David rolls his eyes, which for some reason only makes this Patrick person smile bigger.

“Well. It’s nice to meet you David Rose. Welcome to Schitt’s Creek High.”

“Sure thing.”

“Wow. Two words that time. At this rate, David, we’ll be exchanging whole paragraphs by Christmas.”

“Well. It’s good to have goals, Paul.”

Patrick presses his lips together into a thin smile, but his eyes continue to sparkle in David’s direction in a way that felt really, really aggressive.

“This is gonna be a fun year, David.”

And then he’s facing the front of the room again, and David can’t help but notice the way his shoulders pull at that very, very crisp poly-cotton blend, and was that - oh dear sweet Hebraic Jesus was that Axe body spray?! David also couldn’t miss the way the guy seemed to flinch away when the girl next to him reached out to point at something on the sheet David had already disregarded. The way everything in his body language seemed to be screaming at her to stop, but his smile towards her looked the same as the one he’d given David; he was just one of those people who were super nice, and smiley, and flirty with everyone.

David had met those people before. David had made the mistake of falling in love with those people before. So it was a really good thing that he’d already decided to get the hell up and out of that town before he got himself hurt in such a boringly familiar way.

*  
Patrick doesn’t hear a damn word Ms. Anendale says to the class after he goes toe-to-toe with this strange, infuriating, entrancing new kid sitting right behind him. Patrick wants to turn around and stare at him, to take his time to catalog the odd angles of the haircut, and the way it frames his square jaw and heavy eyebrows, the way his face seems to always be saying something different than his mouth.

He also needs to stop thinking about the new guys mouth so much. Or at all. Especially with Rachel right next to him, leaning over from time to time to whisper about which of the group projects they can work on together, which of the book reports they’d be able to crib from her older brother. And he tries to listen, tries to smile and chat and keep things on the surface smooth and easy while his stomach ties itself into knots and he wants to flinch away for some reason.

The end-of-period bell rings and the class explodes, a quick flurry of awkward adolescent bodies trying to talk, flirt, exchange their books, finish their homework, go to the bathroom, and sneak a cigarette, all in different combinations and all before the ten minute passing period is up. Rachel throws her things into her backpack and gives him a half-wave, half hand-kiss as she rushes towards her computer programming class across the building. Patrick takes his time to make sure his books will fit in his bag without wrinkling, mostly because he hates to pay the dumb fee for damaged books on principal.

His caution also had the added effect of keeping him in the sphere of David Rose just a little bit longer.

“Need help with your books?” Patrick asks, because he noticed David didn’t walk in with a backpack, and for the first class of the day his pile of stuff to carry is already unfortunately large.

“Ah, how Danny Zucko of you, but no, thank you. I’ll be returning all of these lovely literature tomes to my locker before the next class.” He said the word ‘locker’ like he really meant ‘radioactive dumpster’ but there was something about the way David put words together that made Patrick smile.

“Danny Zucko wouldn’t carry your books, he’s too cool for thatl. Isn’t that the whole point of that musical?”

David looks surprised, and Patrick wants to make David make that face a hundred more times, it’s such a contradiction. “The whole point of that musical is that to make someone love you, you have to change everything about yourself - and leather. Leather is a very big point of that musical.”

“No wonder I’ve always hated it.”

“Huh. Not in to leather, then, that’s good to know. How do you know Grease?”

“Who doesn’t know Grease?”

“The entire population of heterosexual Canada.”

“Well.” Patrick blushes and realizes that David includes him in that entirety. Which, he should. Of course he should. His ex-girlfriend of several times walking down the hall right now would concur that he absolutely should. Which doesn’t explain why Patrick can’t look David in the eye now, and David is looking at him like a shark who smells blood in the water. “I guess I should let you get going to your locker, if you’re sure I can’t help you.”

They’ve only got a couple of minutes, and the class is basically full of students for next period, a couple of whom hover around the door awkwardly, waiting for David and Patrick to vacate the space they’re clearly supposed to fill. David manages to get all three books and the packet of papers into his hands without much fuss, but then he’s crab waddling down the aisle and trying to slip past the students in the doorway and Patrick follows him, he can’t help it.

“Do you go to the gym? Because I have to tell you, that looks effortless.”

David attempts to ignore him until he stops short and realizes he’s walked a good thirty seconds in the wrong way from his actual locker and DOUBLE fuck it all because now he is definitely going to be late. “Oh my God,” he half-screams. Because he’s going to be late and the only thing he can hear is the delicious sound of Patrick Brewer, laughing down the hallway as he heads to his next class and leaves David with his heart racing and his stomach in his throat.


	2. dying to fit in, born to stand out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevie! Joints! A+ decision making ensues.

Alexis Rose has the kind of voice that is recognizable anywhere in the world. A crowded Somalian market, a dank Ukranian gambling hall, the fluorescently lit expanse of a small town high school lunchroom. David's back is to her, his eyes roving over the collection of meager, sad-looking vegetable options and a giant bucket of ice that holds milk, milk from a cow, in a way that can't possibly pass the health code.

He can almost feel her before she says anything, a primal attunement to her annoyance that scratches down between his shoulder blades. 

"Ew, David."

He spins and his brow furrows, mouth crinkling into a tiny pinch.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in class or something?"

"Oh, I paid some girl for her lunch period."

"You can't just pay someone for their lunch slot, Alexis, this isn't Sardi's."

"Well, obviously you can David." She picks a grape out of the fruit salad on his tray and boops him on the nose with it before popping it into her mouth. "So how's your first day going?"

"Great!" His voice his high and tight and the smile on his face is stretching it in weird ways. She smirks at him.

“That’s so great, David. Then, um, you wouldn’t mind if I just, like, came back later to get you?” She says it fast and kind of waves her hands in the air, bracelets jingling, as though she can distract him from the fact that she wants to abandon him in this ninth layer of hell.

“And where will you be, Alexis?”

She leans into his space and drops her voice. “Some of the cheerleaders invited me to this, like, super secret lunch spot. Off campus.” She says the last two words like she used to talk about following Kim and Khloe around LA hoping for an invite to the Kardashian Family Holiday Blast 

“Cool. Let’s go.” He sets his tray on the metal ledge behind him and when he turns back around, she’s smiling at him like he’s a sad puppy in a cardboard box.

“Oh, no David. Shelley only has a five seater and there are already four of us.”

“So there’s one seat left.”

“Sorry, four of us plus the pompoms.”

He gapes at her and she just smiles at at him, bunching her face and making a little simpering noise. She spins on her toes and kind of flounces out of the cafeteria and down the long stretch of lockered hallway. David’s hoping some grumpy teacher will stick their head out of the door and snag her, but of course that doesn’t happen, and he watches as the heavy metal door to the parking lot closes slowly behind her.

He turns to pick up his tray and realizes there is literally no point. He’s making his way past the cash register when he spies a spinning rack of chips and shouts down every better angel in his head when he plucks a bag of puffy, neon orange Cheetos off a clip and fishes out his wallet to pay for it. He swipes his card three times before he realizes it’s not going to work and pays in cash. 

His little chat with Alexis takes up more time than he realizes, and by the time he and his Cheetos are looking for a place to sit, all the tables are full. He makes his way to the outskirts of the room and sinks down onto a bench below a bulletin board full of flyers. He’s passing the bag of chips back and forth in his hands, popping one of the candy pacifiers in his mouth and wishing into the core of his bones that he hadn’t decided to go one more round with his mom’s bennies at the last Amanda Bynes house party, when a body slams onto the bench next to him. 

She’s got dark hair that hangs in front of her face and is wearing ripped jeans that look like she didn't pay for them to get that way and a plaid shirt at least two sizes too big for her. She’s pretty in, like, kind of an angry and apathetic way, and something about her feels safe to David. So he half-nods at her.

She returns the gesture. “Nice pacifiers.”

“Nice plaid.”

“Well, you know what they say about dressing up for the first day of school.”

"No. No, I don’t.”

“Clearly,” she throws a glance down at the oversized geometric print sweater he’s pulled down over his fingers and gives him an over-large smile, her eyes wide in an approximation of innocence. 

David gives her a thin-lipped smile and an assessing look. “Well, I’m so glad the Anna Wintour of Schitt’s Creek High School chose me of all people to sit next to today.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Clearly,” and this time it’s his turn to do that whole judgement-eye-rake thing. She smiles at him for that one, a genuine smile, and he’s surprised that the one he gives her is genuine, too. And it grows by miles when she reaches into an inside shirt pocket and pulls out two very thin, very crinkled joints. She gestures with them towards the bag of Cheetos in his hand. “Oh, yes, mmhmm, yes please.”

They stand and fall into step next to each other, walking with the kind of intentional nonchalance of two people about to do something they know is against the rules. As they slide their way quietly through the exit doors to the staff lot, he hears her quietly say 'I like your haircut'.

So he says 'I like your shoes' and he's only 17% lying because he feels like maybe he and this girl could do that thing where they pretend to be friends. 

*

The girl's name, turns out, is Stevie and she's sarcastic and bleak and David is kind of in love with her. Between the junk food and the pot, he's not all that hard a sell.

"So he just, like. Talked to you."

"No, he didn't just _ talk _ to me. He, like, aggressively talked to me. He offered to carry my books."

"What an asshole."

"Exactly," he says, sharply, stubbing out the last little bit of the joint and passing the roach back to Stevie. He stands up off the grass they had no choice but to sit on and brushes off the back of his pants. He considers offering a hand to Stevie but she looks like the hardy type. So instead he lets his attention wander, his gaze going soft until the mass of cars blurs into a single, mottled whole. He smiles and thinks it looks a little bit like a Julie Mehretu painting, all dark greys and sharp lines and occasional pops of color. He's busy wondering what happened to the Mehretu he bought his mother, so he doesn't notice when a sturdy, slightly shorter boy with surprisingly broad shoulders steps into his line of sight.

"David?"

David's attention returns in a jolt and his eyes go wide when he sees the quick-witted, help-offering asshole from English class in front of him. 

"Patrick." And David doesn't know why his voice is all soft and familiar, or why it makes Patrick look at him with that soft, goofy smile, but David likes it. That smile. And liking someone who likes everyone, like Patrick, isn't a task David feels up to at the moment.

Luckily, Stevie picks that moment to get herself off the ground, and she comes to stand at David's elbow, watching them watch each other. Patrick turns his smile to Stevie and David hopes he's not imagining the way the corners of his lips shift, the way his eyes dim by, like, half a degree. Patrick holds out his hand for Stevie to shake, like he's a 40 year old business manager, and actually introduces himself with his full name. "Hey, Patrick Brewer."

Stevie just stares at his hand for a beat before shaking it briefly. "Yeah, I know. Stevie Budd. We sit like four seats apart in homeroom."

"Yeah, of course, you bring in those cinnamon rolls that smell so good."

Stevie looks kind of surprised that he's noticed, but even though David's new and he just met Patrick, it doesn't shock him at all. Patrick is composed, and orderly, and is the exact kind of clean-mouthed person to remember Stevie's cinnamon rolls.

The phrase 'Stevie's cinnamon rolls' makes him laugh, even though he's only said it in his head, and the little sound refocuses Patrick's attention like a laser beam.

"What're you guys up to?" The look on his face, like he already knows, sends flames into David's cheeks. He giggles again and Stevie snorts and holds up the empty Cheetos bag like an explanation. Patrick just beams, looking back and forth between them, his eyes been playful. He 'tsk's at them and takes a step closer, lowering his voice. "David Rose, are you a troublemaker?"

It shouldn't sound dirty, shouldn't make his lower back grow tight and the skin on his upper thighs buzz. He's talking about the pot, just the pot, but suddenly David is thinking all about the different ways he could make trouble with Patrick. 

It must be more clear on his face than he thinks, because Stevie pivots to look at him and her eyes are doing that big, doe-eyed sincerity thing again. "Yeah, David. You wouldn't want to get a reputation."

"It wasn't my pot!" He says too loudly, and Patrick shushes him and takes a step forward at the same time that Stevie snort-laughs and steps away. Suddenly it's like all his senses are filled with Patrick, a line of white buttons and the smell of a Seventeen magazine mixed with something minty. David licks his lips and notices Patrick noticing. The other boy hasn't stopped smiling at him, his eyes open and his face kind and waiting. David let's the time drag out until he just can't stand it anymore. 

"What?!"

"I noticed that you were late to class today."

"The busses in this town are awful, and thank you for the kind reminder."

"You're taking the bus?" 

"Yes, well. Tom Ford's aren't exactly for walking long distances and not all of us have the ankles for mountaineering wear."

Patrick glances down at his boots, and then at David's pristine white tennis shoes, and when he looks back at David, he's got a look on his face David can't decipher. "Well, where are you staying? I've got a car, I can come get you tomorrow."

"That won't be nec-"

"He's staying at the motel," Stevie butts in and he's never so deeply regretted telling a stranger something.

"Perfect. So I'll see you at the motel at...7?"

David blanches. "AM?! Oh absolutely not."

Patrick huffs and it's the first time he's actually looked a little irritated with David. "It's really not a problem."

"Yeah, David, it's really not a problem" Stevie repeats to him.

"No, uh-huh, yep thank you," he says pointedly at her before turning to look back at Patrick, "but really. It's completely fine. I've been reassured by the metro drivers of this fine city that it won't happen again."

"Well, tell you what. I'm not usually one to question the reliability of our proud municipal workers, but just in case…"

And then Patrick's hand is on David's hand and he's produced a Sharpie from somewhere and he's writing in big, clean block numbers on David's palm. He wants to pull his hand back, wants to make an affronted noise and act like he feels violated by Patrick's sudden intrusion in his space. But Patrick's hand is really warm, and soft, and David is mesmerized by the way he can feel each and every nerve ending where Patrick's fingers are pressed against the back of his wrist.

"If you need a ride, call me. I'm up early." And then this audacious motherfucker has the gall to wink at Stevie before he's gone again, disappearing among the cars like some kind of Ghost of Future Charity Rides.

David looks down at his hand and starts to trace the seven numbers on his palm before he notices Stevie looking and stops himself. 

"What an asshole," she deadpans.

He shrugs and mutters, "whatever" and then starts to stomp back towards the high school, pretending like has any idea where he's actually going.

Stevie trails along behind by a few steps, letting him march them in circles for fifteen minutes before she takes pity on him and walks him to his last class of the day.


	3. can you ever just be whelmed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick Brewer can't get his head in the game.

“Yo, Brewer, what the fuck?!”

A whistle blows sharply. “Language, Danforth.”

“Sorry, Coach, but - come on! That’s the third ground ball he’s let go right past his glove side.”

Patrick looks behind him and sees the ball lying in the dirt right at the edge of the grass. 

“You know my rules about swearing, Danforth. Go.” The tall blond third baseman shoots Patrick a heavy glare as he takes off running towards the right field fence. Coach Kowalski doesn’t have a ton of rules, but the ones he does have are mostly about sportsmanship and not being a jerk - including no cursing on the field. In the locker room was one thing, but on the diamond meant an automatic lap to the far fence. 

Patrick cringes slightly as Coach looks at him next, face a mask of concern. “Everything alright, Brewer?”

He nods sharply and jogs quickly for the ball, returning it to the pitcher with a quick snap. “Yeah, Coach. I’m fine. Just, you know, first day jitters I guess. Can’t stop thinking about the exhibition against Elmdale this weekend.” It’s not a total lie. It's just not the only thing he can’t stop thinking about. 

Patrick feels like he’s spent the entire day half in someone else’s body. His encounters with the Rose family - he’s got Alexis in his third and sixth period classes, her attitude towards college algebra and chemistry about as serious as David’s had been towards English - have left him buzzing with a weird energy. They’re both so quick-witted and smart, this blend of self-deprecating and incisive commentary on everyone else around them, they stick out in the student body like sprays of neon through a sea of earth tones. They make Patrick feel like a walking pile of beige.

He’d been flirting with David Rose. It was impossible to deny it, when he stops to run through both of the conversations he’s had that day. He’d been flirting with him hard in English class, and had even written his fucking number across the other boy’s palm. He’s never done that with anyone, written across their body with semipermanent ink. Patrick had a a cell-phone in his pocket, a recent present for his senior year, and an entire tree’s worth of notebook paper in his backpack. But his body had wanted to touch David before his mind had been given the chance to talk him through it.

That was a sensation he was deeply familiar with. The first time he’d kissed Rachel, she’d actually kissed him and his body had reacted so quickly that his mind had agreed before taking any time to process what he was feeling about it. Kissing Rachel was nice, and easy, and had been his normal for so long now that he’d never even thought about kissing another person for the last few years they’d been floating in and out of each other’s beds. And he knew that they didn’t have a ton of sex, but he also knew that none of his friends were actually having the kind of sex they were all talking about having. So he figured he and Rachel were just kind of doing the real-life version of all the stories his friends told. You could be in love with someone, be with someone, without wanting to be touching them all the time. Patrick just wasn’t really a touchy kind of guy.

Except, he sort of was. He loved to greet his friends with a hug, loved to be the first person to offer a hand to shake or a high-five. He loved the press of bodies around him when his teammates took home the W and decided to celebrate at the plate or behind the net. He just wasn’t that in to sex. They’d talked in health class about how some people weren’t, and that was okay. Rachel never really complained, at least not to him, so things continued to be how they always were until they weren’t anything anymore. Which was also becoming a bit of a nasty pattern. 

“Hey, I heard you broke up with Rachel again,” his friend Tanner says, jogging up behind him as the team makes their way to the infield to switch to batting drills. Patrick heads to the dugout and grabs his bat out of his bag, digging around in the bottom for his lucky glove longer than he strictly needs to, just so he can avoid having this conversation. He doesn’t know if Tanner remembers the party in July where he’d gotten completely shitfaced and told Patrick that he’d always had a crush on Rachel, but Patrick hasn't forgotten it. Which means the question sounds a little less than casual to Patrick, and he doesn’t like the warm flash of jealousy that sours his stomach and makes his face feel hot.

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes.”

“Mmhmm, I sure do.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I know how this goes, and I’ll be congratulating you guys getting back together in some spectacular fashion by homecoming.” He says it with a laugh in his voice, but it scrapes across the heat in Patrick's cheeks and makes him snap.

“Fuck off, Tanner.” He whispers it so that Coach won’t hear, but Tanner hears it crystal clear. He literally takes a step backwards, out of Patrick’s space.

“I’m sorry, is that not literally what you were just saying to me?”

“Not really, no.”

“Okay, my bad. I misunderstood. I’m sorry.”

“You should be, that was a really shitty joke.”

“Whatever, dude.” Tanner grabs his bat and jogs to the other end of the line, grabbing a few balls from the bucket as he passes and putting as much space between him and Patrick as he can find.

Patrick doesn’t know why he’s being like this, all aggressive and on-edge. He’s so good at keeping this part of himself locked up, at breathing through the clench of his shoulders and finding things around him to ground his attention when he feels himself starting to spin out of control. He blames having a mother who is an early childhood therapist. But he’s felt off kilter all day, and now he’s dropped the leash on his anger and he can’t figure out how to grab it again. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose and rolls his shoulders down his back. He grabs a few balls out of the bucket and finds an empty stretch of fence he can hit into. Swinging the bat a few times to warmup, Patrick attempts to fall into the pattern of motion that he always finds soothing. It’s one of the best parts of sports, the repetition and muscle memory that allows his body to relax and his mind to work through knots that are wound too tight otherwise. It takes him longer than usual today, but by the time Coach blows the whistle at the end of practice, he feels lighter. Like he's poured water out of an overflowing cup. 

He takes his time packing up, waiting until the dugout is as empty as it's going to get before he apologizes to Tanner. "Hey. I'm sorry."

Tanner shrugs and zips his bat bag forcefully. "It's fine."

"No, it's not. It's been a weird fucking day, but that's not your fault."

When Tanner looks at him this time, he's got less anger in his eyes, but he still crosses his arms over his chest. "It's seriously fine, Pat. Just. Whatever the weird shit is, get it together by Friday. It's gonna be way less fine with everyone if you let this same shit happen at the exhibition."

Patrick decides this isn't the best moment to remind Tanner that he hates being called Pat. He was right - they needed everyone to have their head in the game Friday. It wasn't easy to score college money when you went to a small high school in a smaller town named Schitt's Creek, and this Friday's game very likely meant scouts. Patrick nods.

"I know. You're right, and it won't."

It's Tanners turn to nod. Patrick gets one more stoic, "good," and then Tanner is gone, jogging across the outfield towards the student parking lot.

Patrick grabs his bag and follows Tanner, sort of, taking his time to walk across the expanse of grass, the buzz of cicadas filling his ears as he feels the late summer sun warming the back of his shoulders. He gets to his car and sits in the driver's seat while the sun sinks further and further behind the school. His car is in shadow when he finally turns it on and makes his way home for dinner.

*

Later, after a double serving of his mom's famous enchiladas, he stands under the hot water of the shower and lets his mind wander through the day. The air around him is heavy with steam and it feels like a blanket, warm and smothering and protective. He hears David's voice in his mind, calling him Paul, and Tanner's voice calling him Pat, and neither is his name but one is way closer yet somehow, of the two, it's Paul he prefers. Which isn't really a thought that makes any sense.

Nothing about David Rose or the way he makes Patrick feel makes any sense. Patrick is a stalwart guy. Since elementary school, he's heard words like 'trustworthy' and 'calm' and 'dependable'. And 'nice'. Patrick has heard the word 'nice' so many times it doesn't sound like a real word anymore. And that's fine! Patrick is nice. Except, something about David makes him feel mean. No, not mean. Unpredictable. Like he doesn't have to say the calm thing, or the dependable thing. Like he can say anything he wants. Do anything he wants - or, if not anything, at least the unexpected thing.

He turns off the shower and sees the look in David's eyes when Patrick promised him a fun year - unexpected. 

He climbs into bed and hears the little sound of shock David made when Patrick asked him if he's a troublemaker - unexpected.

He touches himself when he can't sleep, his dick hard and heavy in his hand, his balls tight and his mind wandering and he thinks of David's wrist, clutched in his hand - most definitely unexpected.


	4. get a wardrobe you abominable twat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastien Raine is sort of the worst, but David can't help himself

It is deeply unfair to David that time never acts more contradictory than it does when he’s in school. He’s done ecstasy underneath a waterfall in the Costa Rican jungle, done cocaine with three of the five members of O-Town in Madrid. He’s seen some of the most beautiful sights in the world, that he can barely remember, and has seen things in the quiet rooms of his household that will never leave him, no matter how many therapists he sees into adulthood. No where - NO. WHERE. - did time act more fucky than in high school.

It’s the reason that each and every hour of David’s days seem to drag by and yet his nights are over before he can catch hold of them. His classes are a waste – all but one, anyway, and even that one is a bit of a stretch on the better days. He never thought he’d be so fascinated by the way a person’s t-shirt can wrinkle and fold around the curve of their neck, the way you can get to know a person by the shapes their shoulders make, but he’s also never spent a great deal of time actually, like, sitting in his assigned seat before. There is just. Nothing else to do in this god-forsaken town. David wants to die at the knowledge that he is going to high school out of sheer boredom. 

Not that his fellow classmates are the pinnacles of social stimulation. So far, he’s managed to get high with Stevie twice more and joined a rather homely looking kid named Roland in looking for his dog that had gotten loose around the hotel. Otherwise? He’s been home early most evenings, folding and refolding his sweaters and trying to guess just how long it will be until his mom and dad get over their shit and realize that just about anywhere else in the world is better than Schitt’s Creek. 

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in getting out of here this weekend?”

“Going to whisk us off on your private plane?”

“Unfortunately, no. My parents loaned out the plane for the month.”

“Jesus, David.” It’s not often that he manages to catch Stevie off guard but she sounds genuinely surprised. She lowers her voice like she doesn’t want anyone in the basically empty hallway to hear her. The last class of the day has been over for half an hour, but David is desperate not to have to go back to the oppressive tininess of his cinderblock motel room. “You guys don’t actually have a plane, do you?”

He raises an eyebrow at her archly and considers fucking with her. But he’s not really in the mood, and besides. This conversation is veering dangerously close to a conversation about the Old David, and he didn’t really like to talk about Old David. So he sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh. “No. It was more of a timeshare situation.”

Stevie snorts. “So if Ibiza is off the table, what did you have in mind?”

“There’s a Jean Genet retrospective at the art house theatre in Elmdale on Friday,” he says casually, like he hasn’t spent the last few days trying desperately to connect to the shitty wifi in the motel and find out if he can somehow get tickets online.

“But  _ Lord of the Rings  _ is playing at the multiplex that night,” Stevie says, her face a mask of pained disappointment.

“Are you serious?” David tries not to choke on the words.

“Are you?” she deadpans. “At least you’ve heard of my thing.”

“What thing is that?” Alexis walks up behind them and David jumps, slamming his locker and hoping the sound covers his little yelp. He glares at her.

David says “none of your business, Alexis” at the same moment that Stevie says “some depressing French thing” and of course his sister completely ignores him to turn to Stevie with a wicked little grin on her face.

“Who are you?” She reaches out and boops Stevie on the nose. Stevie bobbles her head a little, but smiles, caught off guard. Alexis has the weirdly disarming power of doing that to people, charming them against their will with her incandescent enthusiasm and flitty mannerisms. 

“Stevie. Stevie Budd.”

“Oh  _ you’re  _ Stevie,” and she looks at David like he’s been talking about Stevie. Which, he has, but Alexis is making it sound like he’s been talking about her tits and not the fact that she’s maybe his only friend left. Not that he’d said that, but he may have implied it. In a sort of round-about, woe is me kind of way. They’d both taken turns last night, bitching for ten minutes about whatever, no mockery and no holding what the other person said against them — it was something they’d done since they were kids when things got really bad and they didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. David had talked about not hearing from  _ anyone  _ since they’d left New York, Alexis had talked about Stavros breaking up with her and already being Facebook official with some other girl. “I’m Alexis.”

“I know.”

“What do you want, Alexis?”

“Chill, David. I was just waiting for Ted to give me a ride home and thought I’d come see what you guys were doing.”

As though his name summons him, a skinny blonde kid with a big smile and almost tangible glow of innocence pops in from the door to the student parking lot. He scans the hallway until his eyes come to rest on Alexis, and David didn't think it was possible for him to look more cheerful, but his eyes sparkle and the glow in his cheeks turns up another few notches as he half walks, half jogs towards them.

“Hey Alexis, you ready? Hi! I’m Ted!” He nods at David, and Stevie, and beams at Alexis and David is reminded of a golden retriever.

“Well isn’t this just a fun little meet and greet for everyone,” he says, his voice overly cheerful, his mouth bent into something like a sneer.

“You must be David,” Ted says, giving him honest to God finger guns. Stevie sees them and her eyes go wide, her lips pressing together in a thin smile. David hasn’t known her long, but he’s already intimately familiar with that look - a look that says there are about a million things Stevie isn’t saying and David is going to want to hear at least half of them. 

“Yeah, yes. Hi.”

“So what’re we talking about?” Ted is one of those people who just feels easy entering other people’s space, and for a second David feels envious of this human puppy who doesn’t act like he’s ever heard the words ‘awkward’ or ‘social anxiety’. 

“David and Stevie were just talking about going to some French thingy on Friday.”

“A Jean Genet retrospective,” David says. “Not some ‘French thingy’, he’s - you know what, never mind!” David turns to slam his locker and forgets he’s already closed it. When he spins back around, Alexis is looking at him with laughter on her face. “Ugh, eat paint, Alexis. We can go to your stupid elf movie this weekend.” This second sentence is to Stevie, who looks up from the floor but is still wrapping her lips around her teeth.

“It’s not my elf movie, David, it’s  _ all  _ of our elf movie. And since you asked so nicely.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I needed to ask you nicely to an event that was entirely your unfortunate idea.”

“Why don’t you guys come to the game?”

Ted asks like it’s the most obvious solution in the world, and even the combined withering disdain of both Rose siblings and Stevie aren’t enough to dim his cheer. He throws a thumb over his shoulder towards a poster on the far wall, on which a bunch of boys all in the same costume sit on benches outside and hold the baseballs. It also says something about a game soon, but David is way to busy pretending he’s not looking for one specific button face amongst the line of sitting, smiling boys. 

“That’s such a good idea, Ted!” Alexis’s voice is doing that high-pitched fake excitement thing it does when she’s getting ready to throw somebody under the bus, and David opens his mouth to protest but Ted speaks first.

“Yeah? Awesome! Well how about I just pick you all up at the motel Friday at...4:00? That should give us plenty of time to get to the field and grab seats!” He claps Alexis on the shoulder as she just opens and closes her mouth like a fish. “You in, Stevie?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it,” she deadpans.

“Cool, cool, alrighty-roo Roses, it’s a date. Alexis, we better get going if I’m gonna get you home before my volunteer shift at the animal shelter.” He turns back to the metal double doors and starts walking, checking over his shoulder a few times to make sure she’s following. 

Which she is, after a beat, and David can hear her little, “Um, about Friday,” before the doors shut behind them.

He and Stevie just look at each other, flabbergasted by the whirlwind that is Ted. 

“Well, that was fun.”

David stares at Stevie. “What planet do you live on?”

“Planet Pizza. Come on, I’m hungry.”

She walks down the hall towards the cafeteria and the far exit that will allow them to enjoy their cold, greasy, begged from the cafeteria workers, end of day pizza in peace.

David has never been able to say no to pizza.

*

“Okay, look, I swear it won’t happen again, but really it’s something you need to bring up with the city bus system. I don’t see how it’s fair that I’m being penalized for their lack of schedule keeping. Do you? Do you see how it’s fair?” The woman behind the desk just stares at David, holding out his detention assignment between pinched fingers. He stares at her for a few more seconds, his hands thrown out to his sides dramatically, before he sighs and takes the paper. “Fine. But know that this is an egregious use of authority and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

She’s already not listening, attention back on the computer screen in front of her. David huffs off, a scowl on his face. He’s deep in the middle of his mental tirade and doesn’t notice the boy holding the door open for him.

“If looks could kill,” David hears the voice over his shoulder and it takes him a second to stop his own mental monologue long enough to process who’s talking to him. He’s tall, with brown hair arranged with product in a way specifically designed to make it look like it isn’t. He’s wearing some kind of white sweater thing that looks like it’s on inside out, and his jeans are ripped. David notes the camera around his neck and the silver aviators tucked up in his hair and smiles before he can stop himself. “Ah, see, that’s much better.”

They fall into step next to each other and David brushes his bangs out of his eyes, using the motion to hide the blush in his cheeks. He can smell the other kid from here, clove and tobacco, and it’s not, like, a clean smell but it’s also not an unattractive one. An image jumps into David’s mind wholly formed, himself, naked, lying on the ground while this nameless door-holder snapped his picture and kept saying things to make him blush. And David knew teenagers were horny, and he had it on very good authority he was hornier than most, but even that was an intense place for his imagination to jump to immediately. He feels his cheeks go redder. 

David realizes he still hasn’t said anything in far too long for it to be considered normal. But it would be weirder to not talk at all, so he clears his throat. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around yet.”

“Yeah I spend a lot of time in the darkroom,” he gestures vaguely to the camera around his neck. “I’m Sebastien.”

He says it like he’s French, and it’s cheesy and pretentious but also the first sign of anything beyond the rural  _ sameness  _ of Schitt’s Creek that David’s had since they moved here. He’s hungry for it, for this tiny shadow of a reflection of a ghost of his former life, and it makes him hungrier for this person who says his name like that.

“Well. Hello, Sebastien,” David says it like a Canadian, because he is, and because it makes Sebastien’s face flicker between annoyance and amusement. “Thank you for accidentally walking me to detention.”

“Who says it was an accident?” He pulls open the door of the room David’s heading towards and winks at him. David tries to swallow his smile as he walks through the doorway, and he’s turning to introduce himself, to thank him again sincerely, but Sebastien is already gone, walking down the hallway and fiddling with something on his camera.

David wants to go after him, wants to push him up against the lockers and shove his tongue in his mouth, to show him all the bad decisions they can make in the last three minutes of the passing period. But his math must be off, because then the bell rings and he’s forced to do battle again against the detention monitor in the name of all things just and fair.

It goes about as well for him the second time as it did the first.

*

There is something really lovely about a late summer ballgame, the way the sky turns from blue to black and the stars come out like the sky’s beginning to bubble. Not that David would ever actually admit that to anyone, but. He’s not technically having the worst time ever. 

If only the crack of the bat and all that yelling would stop getting in the way of him being able to sit in peace and judge the fashion choices of those around him. Stevie is next to him, and at the moment they’re in the middle of a game of ‘homemade or thrifted’, while Ted and Alexis are making a snack run to the concession stands for the last minute price drop.

This wasn’t something David knew about sportsball, that if you waited until the end of the game you could get massive amounts of his favorite junk eating for basically free. The little light under the number ‘9’ on the scoreboard is lit up, and Elmdale is at bat, which Ted tells him means that as long as their team doesn’t mess up the choreography they should be able to win. David sticks his hands under his thighs to keep them warm as the breeze picks up as Stevie points at an older woman who’s just walked out from under the bleachers.

“Thrifted,” David says quickly. Too quickly.

“Evidence?”

“That silver sparkly top she’s wearing used to belong to my mother.” He says it quietly because he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to talk about it. Stevie glances at him.

“That feels like cheating.”

“Well, I’ve been called worse.” 

That annoying bat cracks again and everyone around them stands up. David does too, never one to miss a standing ovation, and he watches as the little white ball goes straight into the glove of Patrick Brewer. He snaps it out of his glove and whips it from by that little white bag in the middle towards the guy wearing the mask. One of the actors on the other team is running towards the mask-wearer, but the ball Patrick throws gets there first and the crowd is losing. their. shit. They’re jumping and high-fiving and David watches Patrick, watches the way his muscles move underneath his tight baseball shirt, the way his little pants cut off at the knee and his tall socks are somehow so pristinely white. He watches until he can’t see Patrick anymore through the press of bodies, his fellow sportsballmen crowding around him. 

David claps, because clapping is what you do at the end of a good performance, and then drops to the bench back next to Stevie, who hadn’t stood and didn’t look like she had any intention of doing so, ever. She holds out a hot dog to him, and he looks past her to see Ted and Alexis standing, exchanging high fives and yelling over nachos. Alexis had sworn to David that she and Ted were just friends, that he was 1000% not her type, but he’d seen her look at guys like that before and he said a little prayer for Ted’s big open shiny heart. 

“This won’t taste better if it gets cold.”

He takes the hot dog from Stevie and pulls open the foil, taking a bite that ends up being half the hot dog. He chews and smiles at her, his mouth still full of hot dog, and she throws a potato chip at him. They sit and finish their ball food - there’s also a bag of cotton candy and a Diet Coke bigger than David has ever seen - waiting for the crowd to disperse. That’s what Ted tells them. David doesn’t care as long as there’s another Snickers bar. By the time things are calmed down enough for them to leave, David is feeling slightly sick.

He takes an armful of their trash to the can as the other three walk towards the parking lot, Alexis and Ted standing just close enough to hold hands without actually holding hands. Stevie stands further apart, but she’s laughing at something Ted said, and it even looks to David like she’s laughing sincerely. He wonders if Patrick is done doing whatever sportspeople did after a winning performance, if maybe he can give he and Stevie a ride home so Ted doesn't have to. He picks up speed to try and catch up with the group as his gaze continues to search for the familiar expanse of shoulders he's come to know so well. 

“Hey sourpuss.”

He's distracted again, looking for Patrick, when the familiar voice gets his attention again. He spins and see Sebastien walking down one of the bleacher exits. He’s still wearing the sweater that looks like it’s inside out, but he’s got a black beanie pulled down over his ears.

“Hey Sebastien. Fancy seeing you here.”

He holds up his camera. “First exhibition game is a big enough deal to get in the yearbook.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I guess it would be in this town.”

Sebastien looks at David when he says that and the corner of his mouth quirks up. David wants to bite that corner. “You don’t like it much here, do you?”

“What’s to like?”

That makes Sebastien laugh, and Sebastien’s laugh pulls David half a step closer. Half a step that puts him in the line of sight of the left field fence. The left field fence where Patrick Brewer is leaning against the metal mesh. David sees him and smiles, giving him a little half-wave, but Patrick doesn’t wave back. Just keeps leaning against the fence and watching them, his loud eyes absolutely silent underneath the brim of his baseball hat.

Sebastien sees David wave and looks over his shoulder. He tosses his own wave at Patrick, but when he turns back to look at David his weight has shifted just enough that he’s blocking David’s vision. But he’s raking his eyes over David’s face, trailing a lingering glance over David’s lips and the lines of his neck that makes David shiver. “You should let me show you around sometime. Show you some of Schitt’s Creek’s secrets.”

"I do love secrets.”

Sebastien smirks at that and pulls a thin white business card out of his back pocket. He slides it into David’s hand and David doesn’t miss the way his fingers trail along the back of his hand slowly.

He’s so busy not missing it, in fact, that he misses Patrick leaving instead. Misses him kicking off the fence with enough force to rattle the pole, misses the way his mouth is set in a thin line and he’s got his hat off, balled into one fist while the other hand runs through his hair so vigorously it hurts. David misses all of it, but walks away with Sebastien’s card curled in his hand, oblivious.


	5. someone you use to feel better about yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick does some very reckless Googling, with mixed results

Patrick Brewer can’t sleep, and it’s driving him up a fucking wall. He tosses and turns, balling his pillow up under his head and then flipping it over for those few sweet seconds of cool fabric pressing into his cheeks. He tries counting backwards, and selectively tensing and relaxing his muscles. He even tries masturbating, although only half-heartedly. Eventually, he gets out of bed and grabs his guitar, strumming a few chords of an old Paul Simon song, one of his mom’s favorites. But then he misses a fret and the song goes sharp and God damn it why is nothing going right for him right now?! He stomps down the stairs way louder than he should for 1:00 in the morning and even the ice water he gets from the fridge isn’t refreshing. It burns, and gives him a headache.

He sits down at the dining room table and rests his forehead against one of the knots in the wood. He rolls his neck back and forth, feeling the weight of his skull press his head into the table in a way that feels really, really nice. He takes a couple of deep breaths and closes his eyes and thinks — he could sleep like this. Even if it’d destroy his back, he could probably sleep here. He’s almost there when he sees Sebastien Raine against the back of his eyes, hand in the air and a shitty smirk plastered across face. Patrick’s heart thumps uncomfortably in his chest and he picks up his head with a groan. 

Patrick makes it a habit to like people. The world always seems easier to deal with if you’re one of those people who assumes the best first. He knows that he’s a dude, and a white dude at that, and those two things make it easier for him to think that, but still. Something about catching more flies with honey. This particular life philosophy has always had one giant blind spot, though — Sebastien Raine. There is something about the way Sebastien has always walked into a room, like the world’s existence is owed to him, like everything and anyone is his for the taking because he’s already decided that it is. He’s seen Sebastien hurt people, just to be cruel, had far too many female friends, and a couple of male ones, be totally destroyed by his whole aloof artist gig. 

And he’d been there, talking to David Rose, and even from across the pavement Patrick could see the color in David’s cheeks, his eyes tracking Sebastien’s body in a way he never had with Patrick. Patrick shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care. Not really. Obviously he cares a little because he  _ still can’t fucking sleep  _ but it’s because he doesn’t want to see his new friend get hurt. There isn’t anything good that can come from being friends with Sebastien Raine and David is new in town; he couldn’t know that. Patrick is just looking out for a friend.

It’s a lie that tastes just enough like the truth, Patrick is able to swallow it.

Besides, he doesn’t know that David is interested in Sebastien like that. He doesn’t really know anything about David. The laptop sat a few seats down from him at the table, so he slides down and pops it open. He logs into a private browser — he doesn’t need the ‘it’s not nice to snoop’ lecture from his mom — and types David’s name into the search engine.

Whatever Patrick’s expecting, it isn’t this. Sure, he sees some of what he expects - the headlines about David’s family, the video store and the financial investor and the collapse of David's world. But then he clicks over to Facebook and it's a different story.

This David is always surrounded by people, B and C list celebrities, the occasional appearance from actual stars, although those seem to be at events also featuring his parents. The more he clicks, the more he finds - David, lips pressed to a series of lips and necks and collarbones; David, eyes barely open, slouched on a loveseat while a group of people make hand signs around him and David is kind of smiling, but mostly not; David holding up Alexis – or is it Alexis holding David – an entire box of wine in his other arm, his lips wrapped lewdly around the plastic spout while Alexis yells at someone off camera. 

He's far back enough, chronologically, that this last picture is a scan of a physical print, and according to the date David is fourteen. There are album after album of this shit, but the more Patrick looks the more he realizes something – all of these pictures are group shots. If he's not with Alexis, he's surrounded by people, in the background or pressed against his body. He's never alone but he always looks lonely and Patrick wants to go back in time and be the kind of friend David must have needed but clearly didn't have. 

Patrick closes the browser and wipes the history, although he technically doesn't need to. There's a part of him that feels bad for doing what he did. He's pretty sure David wouldn't want him knowing, even if it wasn't actually a secret, technically. But there's a bigger part of him that's glad he did because now he knows that what David actually needs is a friend. A real, normal, human friend.

And Patrick Brewer has always been really good at being a friend. 

*

He doesn't mean to scare David, but it's almost impossible to avoid when he's sitting with his head on his desk and giant black headphones over his ears. Patrick taps him as gently as he can but David jumps hard enough that the desk rattles and he throws his headphones down onto the desk, glaring at Patrick. 

"What the fuck?"

"Hi, David."

David does a double-take, looking over his shoulder like there might be another David behind him that Patrick is actually talking to.

"Hi. Can I help you?"

Patrick crosses his arms and leans on the back of his chair. "Well, I was thinking."

"Uh-oh."

"It's going to be getting cold soon, and you really shouldn't be walking outside when winter hits. You don't have the ankles for mountaineering wear." Patrick wants to wink at him, to see him blush like he does every time Patrick gets a good jab in. But that's decidedly not in keeping with his new friendship-first motto. So he doesn't wink.

"I did a summer stint at the Ice Hotel, I know my way around a slick surface." Pictures he’d seen last night fly through his mind before he can stop them and Patrick wants to wince.

"Schitt's Creek got two feet of snow in a single storm last year."

"Then one might say it's actually _more_ dangerous for you to be driving in such precarious road conditions."

"David." Patrick's voice is stern, exasperated, but he's laughing and he doesn't quite understand it because no one has ever made his voice sound like that before. "I want to drive you to school. Please. Just — let me come get you."

David opens his mouth like he's going to say something to defer again, but he doesn’t. "Okay, Patrick."

Patrick's smile feels huge on his face and he's turning back to face the front when David talks again. The words come pouring out of him in a rush, like he's afraid if he stops talking he won't start again.

"Stevie. Budd. You met her? She's been walking with me. Her family lives a few blocks behind the motel."

"That's fine. More than enough room."

"And I'm not much of a morning person, so you may have to honk, like, a couple times."

"Honking I can do. Being late I can't. But if you can get your ass to the car I can bring extra coffee."

David considers these terms. "Acceptable. And then there's Sebastien."

"Sebastien?" Patrick's stomach hits the floor.

"Yeah, Sebastien Raine? Do you know him?"

"Uh-huh." Patrick is glowering, he knows he is, but he can't seem to fix his face. 

David has to notice, but if he does he doesn't push it. "Yes, well. We met at the baseball this weekend and he called me last night and I'm helping him. With a thing. Early in the morning."

"A thing? An early morning thing?"

David throws up his hands, annoyed, but Patrick doesn't know why because all he's done is repeat David's words back to him. 

"It's a photography art project thing and I don't want to talk about it but we have to use the dark room before school starts, so."

"You don't want to talk about it? What's he taking pictures of you naked or something?" He says it like it's a joke because of course it's a joke but David blushes and won't look at Patrick's face anymore and Patrick can't swallow, can't breathe, is maybe about to pass out. "Oh."

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" David reaches for his headphones, ready to slam them back on his ears, but Patrick reaches out a hand to stop him. 

"Wait, David. Stop. Look, it's fine, okay. You just caught me off guard. If you have to help Sebastien with this...thing, then fine. It's a four seater car. Just - can he meet us at the hotel, I'm not sure we'd have time for three separate stops."

"Yeah, I'm sure that won't be a problem."

And the way David says it makes something under Patrick's skin itch. The bell rings and class starts and all Patrick can hear is the rush of blood in his ears.

Three days. Three days and Sebastien Raine has talked David into taking nude photos and now Patrick is going to give them a ride. Both of them. So they'll have more time in the mornings to develop the nudes they're going to take. Patrick reminds himself he's doing it because he's David's friend and he wants to protect David. Even if that means seeing Sebastien Raine's stupid face in his car every morning.. 

Because Patrick Brewer has always been really, really good at being a friend.


	6. always believed in you, just didn't believe in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first two week of school are over but David's just now breaking his own heart.

He has to admit - it’s incredibly nice to not have to wait for the bus anymore. The pain of an atrociously early alarm is greatly eased by the lack of gas fumes and unpredictable fellow passengers. The first morning David pulls himself out of bed with enough time to complete his grooming routine before Patrick double-honks, he wants to die. But, as promised, there is a to-go mug in the passenger side cup holder, pale yellow with 'you can do it' written in big black bubble letters. He picks it up and quirks an eyebrow. 

"Interesting mug."

"Good morning to you too, David."

David takes a long, slow sip of coffee. It's hot and a little bitter and not at all how he normally drinks it, but the noise he makes in the back of his throat is low and primal. "Good morning. This coffee is delicious."

"Glad you like it." Patrick keeps his hands at 10 and 2 even when the car isn't moving and for some reason David can't help but keep track of where Patrick's hands are. Which is why he notices when his grip on the wheel tenses right before he asks, "so where's Sebastien? I thought he would be here."

"So did I," David said, looking through the windshield down the line of rooms, like maybe Sebastien was hiding inside one of them and they just hadn't noticed.

"And he didn't call or, like, message you or anything?" David feels heat flood his face because no, Sebastien hadn't called him, or returned his Facebook messages. 

His no is terse and he hears Patrick make a small 'hmm' noise, but he doesn't push and so David let's it go. The song on the radio changes to a ballad, a plucky guitar and earnest lyrics that make David's skin crawl. And then Patrick starts humming along and David wants to crawl out of his body at the way his stomach is twisting into knots. They sit and listen until the song ends and then Patrick clears his throat.

"If we don't leave now we're going to be late."

"No, yeah, of course. I'm sure Sebastien just had some kind of emergency."

"I'm sure. I really hope he's okay." David doesn't miss the deadpan.

"That sounds very convincing."

Patrick doesn't say anything, just turns up the radio and puts on his blinker as they pull out of the parking lot. And because Patrick doesn't say anything, David doesn't say anything, and they keep on not saying anything until they're idling in front of Stevie's split-level. Luckily for them, she's sitting on the front stoop, scribbling on her jeans with Sharpie. The minute she sees the car turning into the driveway she's on her feet, and she's sliding into the back seat before Patrick can bring the car to a complete stop. 

“Hey, asshole, what took you so long?" She’s looking at David when she says it and he waves his hand noncommittally. 

"Good morning, Stevie." Patrick's voice is high and tight. "God, does nobody know how to actually say good morning anymore," he follows up under his breath. 

David catches Stevie's eye in the rear view and she smirks at him. He mouths, 'I know right,' and she responds with an eye roll. 

"I can see you both," Patrick snaps. Stevie snorts a laugh and David sinks down in the front seat, switching the silver rings on his hands to different fingers and refusing to make eye contact with either of them. 

Ten minutes later, they're parking in the student lot as the first bell rings.

*

David doesn't see Sebastien all day, not even when he very pathetically asks a very artsy looking girl where the dark room is and then goes out of his way to casually walk by it over and over during his lunch. He doesn't see him when he and Stevie linger on the soccer field to polish off a joint, doesn't see him when he and Alexis take a trip to the general store at 8:30 because there's nothing else to do and the whole town basically shuts down at 9. He doesn’t see him the next day, or the day after that, and there’s no call, no IM, no carrier pigeon. 

David isn’t entirely surprised. When Sebastien asked him to be a part of his art school submission portfolio, and explained exactly what that meant, David had mostly assumed it was just a ruse to get him naked. It wasn’t the first time he’d been seduced by the ‘you’re my muse’ approach. Only, he’d shown up and Sebastien had actually had cameras set up, and David had felt self conscious until Sebastien started talking, started undressing him and telling him what to do; he’d taken pictures of David while talking the whole time and David hated his body, hated looking at his body, but loved the way other people looking at and talking about and using his body made him feel. Like he had a purpose. So when the camera stopped clicking and Sebastien’s hands were on his hips, lips stretching around David’s dick, David didn’t say no. He let his head fall back and wound his fingers into Sebastien’s hair and bucked his hips and came hard when Sebastien called him a dirty little slut. Because he wasn’t wrong, and David had always admired an honest person. 

But this is Schitt’s Creek, not Monaco or St. Charles, and there are only so many places Sebastien can go. Besides, David is starting to feel genuinely bad that he’s making Patrick wait every morning. He's beginning to think he hallucinated his entire conversation with Sebastien about getting rides with Patrick, except there he is on Friday morning, wrapped in another artfully tattered sweater, same silver aviators on his head, camera bag in hand. He’s leaning back against the brick wall of the motel, right next to David’s room, so that David gives a little shriek of surprise when he opens the door to wait for Patrick.

“Sebastien!”

“Hey beautiful,” he takes a small step forward, leaning in and wrapping a hand around David’s waist, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. This close, David can smell that cigarette/clove blend again, feel the rough stubble of his five o’clock shadow. His body tenses but he leans up to meet Sebastien’s mouth and at that exact moment sees Patrick’s Toyota turn into the parking lot, moving slowly are carefully to where David is still wrapped into Sebastien. David takes a small step away, but not far enough, and Sebastien just kind of moves with him. 

He opens the door for David, kissing him one more time before ducking into the backseat and sliding over until he’s behind Patrick. David slides into the passenger’s seat and says a very polite, “Good morning, Patrick.”

Patrick doesn’t look at him. He’s staring at Sebastien, who is looking out the window with a small smile on his face. “Hey, Sebastien.” He sounds friendly but, like, a tense friendly. It makes the hairs on David’s neck stand up. Sebastien looks away from the window and gives him a little nod. “Glad you could make it today.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” And then his focus is back out the window. No follow up, no explanation, and a lack of sincerity so transparent David is a little impressed. Patrick makes a disgusted little noise and puts the car in gear. The drive to Stevie’s house has never felt so long, and even her normally unflappable cynicism isn’t enough to cut the tension. 

As soon as they park, David gets out of the car and opens Stevie’s door, less out of politeness than the desire to have a human shield in place as quickly as possible. Sebastien pulls his long legs out of the car slowly and Patrick follows, staring him down like he can’t decide exactly where he wants to punch him. He slams his door harder than necessary as Sebastien makes his way around the back of the car to lean in to David and say, “see you around, gorgeous.” David doesn’t say anything, just makes a little noise, but Sebastien is already walking away. Patrick watches him go and then shoves his hands in his pockets. He turns to look at Stevie and David and opens his mouth to speak when the look on Stevie’s face stops him.

“I’ll see you guys around, okay?”

“Thanks for the ride, Patrick.” He nods and then he’s running — jogging, maybe, but definitely more than walking — away from the car without looking back. David spins to look at Stevie, jaw dropped and eyebrows raised.

“That was literally  _ the  _ most awkward car ride I have ever taken. And that includes the time in Mumbai I had to rescue Alexis from that child cab driver.”

“Well, was that cab driver super in to you? Because if not then yeah, I can see why this would be worse.”

“Sebastien is not  _ super into me _ ,” David speaks the air quotes, and Stevie just looks at him like he’s completely missing the point.

“No, I know. I wasn’t talking about Sebastien. Who, for the record, I do not get good vibes from.”

“Vibes? Are you seriously talking to me about vibes right now?”

“I notice you’re skipping past the part where I said that Patrick is super, super in to you.”

David cut her a glance and scoffed. “He is not.”

“Oh, okay, because going all Top Gun Tooth Click on Sebastien just for, what, being in his car is a totally normal reaction.”

“It’s Patrick. He’s probably just pissed because Sebastien blew him off basically all week.”

“Blew  _ him  _ off?”

David stops walking, mostly because they’re at Stevie’s locker but also because he really, really needs her to hear him. “Stevie. He’s on the student council; he plays baseball and is in the band and he wears off the rack midrange denim and — trust me. He’s not into me.”

She leans against the open door of her locker and squints at him like she’s weighing her response options. She sucks her teeth and shrugs a little. “I’ve got a $20 that says you’re wrong. Ask him to the barn party.”

David groans; he’d forgotten about the barn party. Alexis had begged him to go and he’d promised to go with her and Ted and Stevie to a barn party at some person named Mutt’s family farm. David was still not done processing that there existed a real life human person named Mutt.

“$20...dollars? You want to bet me $20 to ask him out.”

“Only if you’ve got it.”

“You do realize that if you take this bet and lose, you lose your money but I lose my dignity, right?”

“Good thing I’m not going to lose.” She stares at him. The bell rings, and she stares at him. The hallway empties of everyone else and David is getting antsy and she stares at him. He really doesn’t want or need another detention and they’ve only got three more minutes to —”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll talk to him after English class.”

Stevie slams her locker and grabs his hand for a quick shake. Then she’s running down the hall and so is he and he’s barely got both feet over the threshold when the second bell rings and class officially begins. 

*

“Hey, Patrick, you got a minute?”

He can tell by the way Patrick’s shoulders stiffen that he doesn’t really want to say yes. But he will, because that’s the kind of person Patrick is. He turns, and the look he gives David is one that David can’t decipher.

“What’s up?”

“You’ve heard - I mean, are you going - there’s a barn party this weekend? At Mutt’s house?”

Patrick nods. “Yeah.”

“Were you, um, planning on going?” The words come out of David’s mouth like he’s not used to speaking English. David feels like some alien pretending he knows how to do this normal human thing.

Patrick nods again. “Yeah.”

He’s not giving David anything to work with, none of the usual spark and sunshine that David is just now realizing is what makes Patrick, Patrick. This person he’s talking to now is...someone else. “Okay, because Stevie and Alexis bullied me into going and, I was wondering-”

“You guys need a ride?”

“Yes, yes that. But also I was just thinking, if you'll be there maybe you and I could-”

“It’ll be a tight fit with Rachel, but if one of you doesn’t mind sitting in the middle we should all be able to squeeze.”

David only hears one word in that sentence, and it makes his heart crash against his sternum. “Rachel? As in,” he gestures towards the desk next to Patrick’s.

“Yeah. She’s my - was my, um, – we used to date. And I promised her a ride to Mutt’s, like, last week, so.”

“No, of course. Absolutely. Well, this whole thing was Stevie’s idea so I’ll just make her sit bitch.” He's talking too fast and he needs a benadryl; his throat feels tight and his eyes are watering. His face feels simultaneously hot and cold so he stares at the floor and talks to his Rick Owens’. “Cool well thanks for the ride this morning, see you tomorrow.” He pushes past Patrick without looking up, he makes his way down the hall and back to Stevie’s locker without lifting his eyes from the stained, threadbare carpet.

Her smile falls when she sees him. His eyes are rimmed in red and his voice is all snotty but it’s even and it doesn’t break as he holds out his hand, palm up, and very quietly says, "you lose."

**Author's Note:**

> All titles taken from some of my favorite teen movies throughout the ages


End file.
